


Shipwreck'd: A Tale of Lust

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age of Sail, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Desert Island Fic, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Shipwrecks, Survival, rum check sodomy check lash check
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Meriwether and Bertrand are life-long enemies -- one a pirate, the other a naval captain. One stormy night, their fates collide and they must learn to work together if they want to survive and thrive on a mysterious desert island.
Relationships: Male Pirate/Male Naval Officer Stranded With Him On An Uninhabited Island, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 19
Kudos: 131
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Shipwreck'd: A Tale of Lust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impilii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/gifts).



Meriwether met Bertrand when they were both midshipmen on board Captain Hardy’s ship, _The Catalyst._ It was dislike at first sight. Meriwether hadn’t expected to take to life at sea and at first, he hadn't. For three months, he was plagued by incessant bouts of seasickness. Bertrand, who shared the same sleeping quarters as him, was cold and unfriendly, and the captain himself … 

Captain Hardy was a cruel and notorious man. More than one midshipman had gone missing from his ship, despite the loftiness of their connections. And neither Meriwether nor Bertrand were that valuable of a prize -- both of them were second sons of second sons, cast off into the sea as there was no place for them on land. If either were to go missing, their families would grieve, but there could be nothing more to be done for them. 

But this common danger bred no fellow feeling between the boys, nor did they become friends, even as the long, terrible days on _The Catalyst_ dragged on. 

“If I died tomorrow, my parents would never know,” Meriwether said miserably after what turned out to be his last serious bout of seasickness.

“Why do you always complain so, Meriwether?” said Bertrand indifferently, looking up from his reading. 

“Why do you take such an exception to it?” Meriwether replied. “I swear, if a pirate ship came tomorrow and offered me a ride to the sunset, I’d take it. It’s better than being here.”

“They hang pirates,” Bertrand said. “Though if they hung you, I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“If they can catch me,” Meriwether replied. It was then Captain Hardy’s shouting summoned them out of their sleep. It was as if their talk of pirates had summoned them up. 

Meriwether felt his heart pound in his chest as he watched the ship — which showed no colors — tried to outrun them. They had no chance — a naval ship was almost always at an advantage there. The pirate ship burned, the men aboard either perishing or being hauled aboard thanks to the rewards on their name. Meriwether pitied the poor wretches, and wished that they, like he, could have sailed away from this cursed ship. 

*

Meriwether spent two years on _The Catalyst_ before he escaped the intolerable conditions by abandoning ship and becoming a pirate, a decision he had never had reason to regret. 

Bertrand, however, had stuck to the old man and climbed up the ranks ruthlessly, achieving the rank of second lieutenant at seventeen and then only rising from there. 

As it happened, Captain Hardy suffered a mutiny on his last voyage and died from the shock of it. Bertrand was the only one of the officers to stand by him, and benefited greatly from that calculation. The rest of them hanged, but Bertrand got his ship and the rank of captain. 

Meriwether, hearing the news filtered in from distant ports, was not surprised in the least. He had always known Bertrand was capable of anything, and had no desire to meet his old shipmate again. 

Though he was careful never to express this wish out into the world -- lest God heard him and fetch him up with a wonderful new surprise. Meriwether was naturally as superstitious as any good sailor, but despite his best efforts, it seemed that he and Bertrand were destined to meet again. 

He had much to distract him -- his new ship most of all. The _Anna Carick_ had once been a merchant ship that Meriwether had boarded when he was still under Captain Ivy. Always eager for advancement, Meriwether had volunteered himself and a small portion of the crew he trusted to bring the ship in to Nassau’s port. The two ships had been separated by a sudden storm and by the time Meriwether found them again, Captain Ivy’s ship was burning in the water. 

From the survivors he picked up, Meriwether pieced together what had happened. Captain Ivy had noticed a new ship in the distance, a British ship called _The Surety_ , and engaged with it. The captain had gambled on the size of his vessel compared to the naval ship, and the assumption that whoever commanded it must be new to those waters. It was a gamble that Captain Ivy had lost.

It was then that Meriwether learned the identity of _The Surety_ ’s captain, if he had not already suspected. It was, of course, Bertrand, and he had no mercy for pirates. 

After that, Meriwether did his best to stay out of Bertrand’s way, even as he heard rumors that the _Surety_ was seeking news of _Anna Carick_ at every port. Meriwether had no desire to die as poor Captain Ivy had, not by Bertrand’s hand. 

It was this caution that eventually became his downfall: the seas were rough the night of the shipwreck, with thick rain that slapped against his face as soon as he stepped on deck, and lightning and thunder tearing through the sky. If that was not enough, however, there was bad news from the crow’s nest: spotted nearby was a trim little ship of the line, flying with British colors. Almost without a doubt, it was _The Surety._

If it was another captain, if it was another man, Meriwether would have thought that the battle with the elements would have been enough. After all, there was no guarantee that the _Surety_ was safe in such ugly weather as this. 

But Meriwheter would not risk it. 

“Shit,” Merewether said aloud. “Let’s shift ass, lads. Unless you want old Stoneheart Bertrand running you through.” 

“In this weather, Captain?” said Collum, his second-in-command. “Do you think he would give chase?” 

“I have known him since he was fourteen. So -- yes,” Meriwether said. Just as he finished speaking, a powerful bolt of lightning hit close to the ship, illuminating the water. He didn’t need to know that the _Surety_ was fast approaching them. 

The battle could not be avoided, then. But it seemed that it would be a fight on two fronts, rather than one. 

It was just as well. Meriwether had not become a pirate to have a long life, but an exciting one. He hoped to have a conversation with Bertrand before he killed him, but of course, fate would have to decide on that. 

*

“It’s been a long time, Daniel,” said Bertrand as he approached him on the bridge of the ship. He seemed rather confident about killing Meriwether, armed as he was with only his sword and a pistol, which seemed a little unfair, since he hadn’t done it yet. 

“Not long enough, Matthew,” Meriwether replied, and his stomach was churning. His gunpowder was wet — his pistol wouldn’t work, anyhow. But his cutlass was out and at least he could run him through. 

And, more importantly, the _Anna Carick_ was on fire.

If his ship was lost, then all was lost, but at least they would both go down together.

Or so he thought— but then an enormous wave swept over the deck of the ship and carried him off. Something heavy hit Meriwether in the head and he knew no more.

He should have drowned, but the shock of hitting the water revived him enough to grab hold of piece of wreckage. There was nothing to do now except to stay alive until something else happened, either he sank below the surface or was picked up. 

_Hold on, hold on._

The thoughts of his ship, his men, his enemies, became so very distant to him now. He would have to mourn them -- or get revenge on them -- when and if he survived this ordeal. 

*

When next Meriwether came back to consciousness, he was being hauled out of the sea on to a boat. He cut short his words of thanks when he saw who his rescuer was, however. “You!” 

“That's right,” replied Bertrand, “I see that your manners have not improved in your years at sea, Meriwether.” 

“Fuck manners, you burned down my ship!” 

“You're a pirate, that's what I'm supposed to do!” 

“There was a storm, no one else would have pursued us except you, you -- _maniac!_ Now you've shipwrecked the both of us, you _stupid_ , stupid man --” Meriwether stopped shouting for a moment. He felt dizzy. “Do you have any water, by the way?” 

“You should have thought about water before you started yelling,” Bertrand muttered sullenly, before Meriwether fainted. 

*

They were trapped on the boat for five days, at the mercy of the currents. Eventually, it rained, and they managed to collect enough water so as not to die from thirst, but it was a close thing. They saw no ships pass by, not even in the distance, and the stars could only give them a vague idea of where they could be. 

At the end of the fifth day, the boat finally landed on the shores of a deserted island. Meriwether spilled out of the boat and looked around. The place they had landed on was small and looked uninhabited, though perhaps there could be people living further in the jungle. At present, Meriwether had no desire to meet with them, whether to treat or to fight with. He had no energy for either. He merely wanted to lay on the solid ground and be still.

He did this exactly for a moment before he felt a foot nudge at his side. Without moving, he said, “Don’t bother me, Bertrand.” 

“We have to attract attention to passing ships, Meriwether. Do you want to be stuck here forever?”

“Wrong. We should be looking for fresh water, first of all, to see if we can live here even a little while or else utterly perish, but after that — I have no desire to flag down a British ship. Or do you forget what happens to pirates?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. But it’s a fate you’ve been pursuing since you were young, Meriwether.” Bertrand looked over to the horizon, squinting in the light. “Can’t weep over it now.”

“Piss off.”

“Not until we’ve found the water.”

Bertrand offered his hand. Reluctantly, Meriwether accepted it. Once they had found water, he decided, he would kill Bertrand and find his way off this island. 

He was sure this was exactly how it would happen. 

*

They found the stream deep inside the jungle, which led to a small but deep pool that Meriwether immediately jumped in and almost drowned. But what a death it almost was — surrounded by something he most ardently wanted! 

When he resurfaced again, he found Bertrand sedately gathering water with a piece of flotsam that turned out to be a bucket.

“Still dying of thirst?” he asked Meriwether sarcastically. And though Meriwether knew it was childish, he didn’t hesitate to grab the bucket and pour it over Bertrand’s head. 

*

There had been people on this island before. They found evidence of a village in the interior of the island, but the jungle had done its best to reclaim it. The people indigenous to the island had also seemed to have contact with Europeans, judging from the sword that had been driven into the ground in what Meriwether guessed had been the village square. Bertrand wished to take the sword with them but Meriwether advised against it — it clearly marked a grave.

“Perhaps some sickness carried them off. You would release a miasma in the air by interfering with the grave.”

Bertrand narrowed his eyes and said, “None of that. You fear ghosts, Meriwether?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Meriwether challenged. “You’re a sailor yourself. Superstition is in our lifeblood.”

“I hold no truck with it,” Bertrand said crisply, as if they were sitting in a salon debating metaphysics rather than sweating desperate in a jungle, surrounded by the ruins of some doomed village. “The dead do not come among the living.”

“Whatever,” Meriwether said. “Still, it’s an ill-omened spot. Let’s set up camp closer to the beach. We’ll catch sign of passing ships more quickly then.”

Surprisingly, Bertrand agreed to this. They left the village — the dead could keep their own council there.

*

There were no passing ships. They would divide up the time between who would take the watch and who would have the task of providing sustenance for the two of them. It was not easy to come to this arrangement and they had spent many long hours haggling it out. 

Now that survival was not such a sharp-edged sword, they had more time to argue over their differences. Bertrand was unbearable to be around, even more so than he had been as a boy. He was extremely miserly with his fish and coconut meat, and Meriwether wasted no time over telling him so. “I have kept my eye on the horizon for so long, burning my skin to a crisp — I deserve better fare than this.”

Bertrand eyed him suspiciously. “I’ve given you exactly half of what I have found. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Liar,” Meriwether said. “I wager you’re hoarding supplies for yourself. What are you planning to do?”

Bertrand sat down on the truck of a fallen coconut tree and glared at him. “If you must know, I’m planning to kill you and make you into a soup.”

Meriwether looked at him surprised, before he threw back his head and laughed. “You joked! I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

“Of course I know how to joke,” Bertrand said with a sniff. ”I just choose not to do it with the likes of you.”

“And yet, here you are,” Meriwether said, spreading out his hands. But there were no more jokes as they worked to start a fire to cook the fish Bertrand had caught. 

After dinner, in a more kindly mood than before, Meriwether said, “So, Bertrand! Have you a sweetheart somewhere?”

Bertrand, who was watching the fire, said no rather shortly. Meriwether pretended to be shocked.

“Oh? But why not? You’re not an ill-favored man.” In truth, Bertrand was quite handsome, if one liked a tall, dark-haired man whose blue eyes stood stark against his tanned face. If not for his sour disposition, he would surely have broken many hearts. And even with such things -- people oft made exceptions for handsomness. Or so Meriwether gathered.

“What about you, Meriwether? I’m sure you’ve women at every port.”

“No, no,” Meriwether said modestly. “Of course, I’ve made many friends, wherever I go, but there is no one special -- in any port. Though I do hope one day to retire from the business -- open my own tavern somewhere far from the sea. Perhaps I’ll get married then…” 

Bertrand made a rude noise. “Married! Owning a tavern! Why do you delude yourself so? It’ll never happen for you.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Meriwether demanded. He reached out and pushed Bertrand on the shoulder. “I’m a handsome sailor, who wouldn’t wish to marry me?” 

Bertrand frowned. “Perhaps golden hair and Spanish eyes could tempt some, but no sensible or godly woman would wish to have a pirate for a husband, I believe.” 

“Spanish eyes?” Meriwether said, laughing. “Well, family rumors do say my great-grandmother was tempted into infidelity by a poor man who was swept away from the Armada, but that can’t be proven. Have you thought of my Spanish eyes often?” 

“No,” Bertrand said shortly, but Meriwether only laughed at the bald-faced lie. 

*

Meriwether was walking through the abandoned village again, looking for supplies that he could use when he saw some fresh flowers had been laid next to the sword. He looked around, but could see no one. It did not seem likely that Bertrand had been the one to do it. Around him, there was a pocket of silence that descended so quickly that he could hardly note it. No bird sang and even the buzz of insects seemed to dull. 

He left the village quickly, not stopping until he reached the hut he and Bertrand had built on the beach, and saw Bertrand’s familiar, if exasperating face. “What!” Bertrand said, eyeing what Meriwether was holding. “Coconuts again?” 

“Do you think there is another person on the island?” 

Bertrand narrowed his eyes. “Why would that be? If there was, they would’ve shown themselves by now.” 

“Someone left flowers at the grave in the village. I’m fairly sure it wasn’t you. Was it?” 

“Of course not,” Bertrand said. “You’re being superstitious again.” 

“It isn’t a matter of superstition,” Meriwether protested. “I know what I saw… Perhaps not all of the villagers died. They could’ve taken to the jungle, couldn’t they?” 

“But why put flowers on the grave of a conquistador? You saw that sword -- Spanish, last century. Whoever wielded it is here no more.” 

“Perhaps the grave isn’t for the original owner of the sword,” Meriwether said. Bertrand eyed him doubtfully, but then, slowly relented.

“Don’t go there if it bothers you,” he said. “And get us better things to eat than coconuts.”

That night, a thunderstorm rolled through the island and the wind shook their little hut until it seemed like it would collapse over them. Bertrand slept like a rock beside him, but Meriwether was awake, listening to the sound of the ocean. It seemed to grow louder and louder -- even though they had taken care to locate their hut far enough inland as not to be bothered by the tides. 

Meriwether closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He could not. 

Just when he was about to give into despair, he felt a hand smack his forehead. “Stop dreaming so loudly,” Bertrand muttered, his voice thick with sleep. Despite everything, Meriwether smiled. 

*

He woke up with a fever and tried to ignore it. When he scanned the horizon that day, it seemed to him that there was a patch of white against the hard, enamel-blue of the sky. Could it be a sail? His vision swam for a moment and he blinked hard. The white patch was still there. 

He called for Bertrand, but the damned man wouldn’t come. He looked out to the ocean and wondered -- was it there? Was it not? 

The sun beat hot and merciless upon his head and the last thought Meriwether had before the fever took him was if he could set fire to the coconut tree and make a signal that way. 

When he came to again, it was evening and there was a wet rag pressed against his head. He blinked and saw Bertrand sitting next to him, staring at the fire. When Meriwether stirred, he looked at him -- though when Meriwether looked back, he dropped his gaze with a frown. 

“I saw a ship this morning,” Meriwether said, his mouth feeling dry and tattered. “On the horizon. Called to you. Didn’t you hear me?” 

“It wasn’t this morning,” Bertrand said. “You’ve been in a delirium for two days. Said some shocking things to me, honestly.” 

“No. Really?” 

Bertrand rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t coherent enough to say anything. And I didn’t see a ship when I came and found you. It was a cloud or something.” 

“No,” Meriwether said stubbornly. He wasn’t, in fact, sure that he had seen a sail, but Bertrand’s casual dismissal rankled him. He glared at his companion and noticed how pale he was under his tan. He seemed to be sitting at attention, as if Captain Hardy would be coming in momentarily to check his calculations. 

“Did you think I was going to die, Matthew?” Meriwether said. His voice came out more gently than he had planned and Bertrand gave him a brief, unreadable glance before he shrugged. 

“You could’ve easily done so,” he said shortly. 

“And then! You would’ve gone mad with loneliness,” Meriwether said triumphantly. “If I do die, you must promise me that you will bury me properly and will not despoil my corpse, no matter how much you hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Bertrand said. “And I wouldn’t despoil your corpse. Now you must promise the same to me.” 

“Of course,” Meriwether said quickly. “I would never do that.” Then, Bertrand’s other statement penetrated the fog of his mind. “You don’t hate me? Really? I thought -- with _The Catalyst_ and all -- you must’ve felt that I -- well, abandoned you to Captain Hardy.” 

“You? You thought you were responsible for the way I am now? Because you rejected my friendship that I --” Bertrand started to laugh and Meriwether groaned. 

“No, I didn’t think that -- only, everyone said you had an especially hatred of me because -- well, our shared history.” 

“Two years out of thirty is hardly enough to make such an impression.” 

“True,” Meriwether said, relieved. 

“No, if I should’ve hated you, it would have been for your terrible choices after you’d left _The Catalyst_ , for becoming a pirate and being so terrible at it.” 

“I’m not a terrible pirate!” Meriwether said indignantly. “I’m an average to good one, actually!” 

“Then why was it so easy to track your ship down and burn it?” Bertrand asked and Meriwether had no answer for him, so he pretended that all this commotion had tired him out and rolled over to sleep. But he wasn’t sleeping. Instead, he was thinking furiously -- of all the ways he hated Bertrand, but also in all the ways Bertrand was right. 

*

“Bertrand, let me ask you this,” Meriwether said on the sixth month anniversary of their arrival on the island. “What would you do if we were trapped on this island permanently?” 

“That would be impossible,” Bertrand said. “This area of the ocean is being explored more and more -- it’s merely a matter of time before we’re rescued. The only concern is who rescues us and what it would take to get back home.” 

“No, no, I mean, of course, some time or other, we’ll be rescued, but what I’m saying -- Bertrand, you’re a man. So am I. I can’t be alone in -- well, the thing is, I’m dying for a fuck. How about you?’ 

He thought Bertrand would be annoyed enough to ignore him -- or pretend to walk into the ocean, which was a lark that, admittedly, was more to Meriwether’s taste -- but he did neither of those things. Instead, he paused and looked at Meriwether with a critical eye. 

“Interesting,” he said and walked on, his hands folded against his back. Meriwether felt as though he had admitted a terrible weakness to a man who was, after all, his worst enemy. 

“Listen!” Meriwether said, scrambling in the soft sand in order to catch up with Bertrand. They were going to the freshwater lagoon. Going there meant crossing over the abandoned village, which Meriwether was unwilling to do alone after his illness. Bertrand ridiculed his feelings, but obliged him. “Matthew, wait!” 

Bertrand picked up his pace, almost running now. Meriwether considered chasing after him, but decided against it. If the idea was distasteful to him, he ought to say so. 

Nonetheless, that meant that Meriwether was quite alone as he walked into the abandoned village. He walked slowly, keeping a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing, but he almost walked into Bertrand, just outside the village proper. He was looking down a sinkhole that had opened up in the ground. 

“There’s something in there,” he said when Meriwether approached him. “I think it’s a chest of some kind.” 

Meriwether’s heart started to race. “What could it be? … A coffin?” 

Bertrand shook his head. “It looks too small for that.” 

“Whatever it is,” Meriwether said excitedly, leaning against Bertrand’s back, “we have to get it out.” 

“Don’t push me,” Bertrand said sharply. “The ground here is soft.” 

It was a work of an afternoon to find enough rope, and a strong-looking tree nearby to put together a rough sort of pulley system. They drew lots on who should go down the hole. Meriwether lost. As he was being lowered into the dank and fetid hole, which seemed to grow bigger every moment, he shouted out to Bertrand, “I should get more than fifty percent of the treasure!” 

“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” Bertrand said with gritted teeth, lowering him further down. Meriwether grabbed the chest and gripped it tight. 

“Get me out!” he shouted. The chest was slippery with mud and he feared that he would drop it before he could get out. The rope was fraying quickly and Meriwether craned his neck upwards and shouted for Bertrand to hurry. He thought the rope would break and he would crash down into the bowels of the earth when suddenly he was pulled up and into the air. He threw the chest away from him and it landed on the soft ground a few feet away from Bertrand with a terrific crash. 

“Damn it,” Meriwether said, swinging from the rope. “That doesn’t sound like gold.” 

But before he could find out, Meriwether had to go to the lagoon -- he was covered in sticky mud and it was drying quickly on him. Bertrand did not seem willing to talk overmuch about what had happened, but he followed Meriwether without protest. 

They still wore the clothes they had had on since the shipwreck -- Bertrand’s uniform, once so crisp and presentable, was a shadow of its former self. Meriwether, who had long since surrendered his blue uniform, watched with amusement as he studiously cleaned his overcoat, even though it was far too hot to actually wear. Meriwether’s own clothes consisted a ragged shirt and and his breeches -- he had not had much of a chance to pack when he went overboard. 

Of course, it made sense that Bertrand was more or less put together, even now. Had he even gone into the water like Meriwether had? The first time Meriwether had seen him after the wreck, he was already in the row boat. Why had he been there ... ?

“He could’ve gone back to _The Surety_ ,” Meriwether said to himself. “Why didn’t he?” 

He must’ve only thought of pursuing Meriwether and bringing him back to hang… 

“Why are you gawping at me in that way?” Bertrand said. His eyes were sharp, damn him. Meriwether sank deeper into the water. 

“No reason.” 

Bertrand swam closer to him and said briskly, “You look horrible -- I suppose I’ll help you wash your hair.” 

“You don’t need to,”Meriwether said quietly, but allowed Bertrand the liberty. When his head was pushed under the water, he looked up to see Bertrand’s face looking down at him, expression twisted through the water and unreadable. 

*

They dragged the chest out to their hut and Meriwether attempted to renegotiate their agreement. “I took more risk than you in retrieving it -- it’s basic fairness that I should get more. How about seventy-five, twenty-five?” 

“Don’t be absurd, Daniel. It’s fifty-fifty, as we agreed,” Bertrand said, and struck off the lock. When Meriwether popped open the lid, he couldn’t help but groan. It hadn’t been gold, or silver, or precious jewels. Some drunkard had secreted away a cache of rum. Some of the bottles were already broken -- but at least a few had survived intact. 

“Fuck it,” Meriwether said, grabbing one and breaking off the head. 

“Wait, that could be --” Bertrand said, alarmed but Meriwether ignored him and down another gulp of rum. 

“Drink with me,” Meriwether said, shoving the bottle into Bertrand’s hand. “Fifty-fifty, isn’t that right?” 

Bertrand looked livid. “You are the stupidest man in the history of the world!” He put the bottle on the ground and approached Meriwether. Meriwether, thinking they would come to blows, throw out his arms and wrapped them around Bertrand’s waist. He grinned, triumphant. He was not expecting the kiss, but he got one -- it was a rough, passionate kiss, almost like a blow. Bertrand bit at his lip, as if he wanted to draw blood. They overbalanced and fell into the warm sand, struggling with each other. 

When Meriwether finally had a chance to speak, he did so, lying supine on the ground. “So I gather you’re dying for a fuck as well, Matthew?” 

“Don’t,” Bertrand said, wiping his face. He was sitting on the sand next to Meriwether, looking as if he was going to die of shame. “Make this into a joke, Daniel. That is your worst feature.” 

“What’s my best? Is it my Spanish eyes?” Meriwether said teasingly. When Bertrand tried to rise, he put a hand on his thigh. “No -- stop. I won’t tease you. I want to -- God, I want to so much -- let me suck you.” 

He thought Bertrand would hesitate -- _that he would say no_ \-- but Bertrand only nodded and took out of his cock. Meriwether thanked God that both of them had just bathed and he could press his lips against Bertrand’s cock with no other thought in his head besides making him come.

Meriwether was not unfamiliar with giving other men satisfaction. Nights on the ocean could be long and frustrating, and more than one sailor proved to be a temptation. But it was different with Bertrand -- Meriwether felt the need to prove himself, as absurd as it seemed. 

Bertrand’s cock was hard already -- had it been hard all this time and the moment Meriwether’s lips touched them, Bertrand shuddered, a gasp escaping him as if it hurt. Meriwether took him deeper, tasting the salty tang of his skin. Then Meriwether pulled away and began to bring Bertrand off with his hands, keeping his gaze locked on Bertrand. 

Bertrand reached out and brushed his fingers on Meriwether’s mouth. Meriwether opened it and let Bertrand’s fingers in his mouth, sucking at them feverishly. When Bertrand came at last in his hand, Meriwether wiped the come off on Bertrand’s coat, smiling as he did. 

“I hate you,” Bertrand said, falling back on the ground with a groan. 

“You don’t,” Meriwether replied serenely. He was right. 

*

After that, things between them changed. During the daylight, they conducted themselves much as they always had, repeating the now-familiar work of surviving on the island. They built a house to replace the hut, and stopped looking for some distant, passing ship. A year had passed and no ship had ever come.

As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon -- then, they would give themselves over to new sensations and feelings. 

Meriwether knew that Bertrand would prefer never to speak of it, which was why he took pains to do it. It was the least he could do. 

“Is this why you were such a success in the Navy, Matthew?” he asked mischievously, throwing a pebble into the fire.“You climbed through the ranks _so_ quickly.” 

He thought Bertrand would deny it or at least insult him and his lecherous mind. And it did seem like Bertrand was on the verge of doing exactly that -- but then the corners of Bertrand’s mouth quirked upwards. “Well, it wasn’t a disadvantage.” 

Meriwether laughed and reached to kiss him. Bertrand caught his arm and pulled him closer. They kissed roughly, as the aim was to devour each other. But then, the feeling changed. The kisses became softer, more loving.

“Do you — want to?” Bertrand asked him, looking downward. He was chewing his bottom lip, though he stopped when he saw Meriwether was looking at him. 

“Yes,” Meriwether replied. “Treat me as you would your superior.”

Bertrand rolled his eyes and stood, pulling Meriwether up with him. They doused the fire and went inside the house. Their bed was made up of palm fronds, with a spare sail stretched over it. Eventually, that sail would need to cut up for clothes but for now, Meriwether dropped on to it, shedding his clothes as he did so. He watched as Bertrand undressed, his excitement mounting.

“My superiors wouldn’t spread their legs for me so eagerly,” Bertrand said, crawling between Meriwether’s legs. 

““You’re saying there’s no Admiralty of sluts?” Meriwether said excitedly. “I knew you were a bad one. No matter much you pretend otherwise.”

“You talk too much,” Bertrand said before kissing him. 

“Disappointing,” Meriwether said. His tongue felt thick, as though he was too excited to speak. He sat up and took Bertrand’s half-hard cock into his mouth. 

“Get it wet,” Bertrand commanded him and Meriwether shivered, despite the heat. 

The trouble with sex, as far as Meriwether was concerned, was that it was never a straightforward act, at least, it wasn’t for him. He tended to leave bits of himself stuck into the people -- not _literally_ , he had no children that he knew of -- but it was never a simple proposition for him, even if he badly wanted it. 

When Bertrand caressed his face and kissed him, Meriwether knew he was lost, doomed, and he did not mind it. The jolt of Bertrand entering him, the pain of it mixed with pleasure was enough to make Meriwether come, almost. He had been so hungry for touch for so long, and now he had it and he would never let it go. 

If Meriwether was said to always have an imprudent tongue, it was even more pronounced once he had a cock inside him. He delighted in goading Bertrand to fuck him harder, to go deeper, whispering the most filthy things he could think of. Bertrand gripped his thighs so tightly enough to leave marks. 

But it was Bertrand who shocked him to the core when he said, almost too quietly for Meriwether to hear over the sounds of their bodies coming together. “I do love you,” Bertrand said. He sounded almost astonished to hear himself say it, but then he said it again, louder and more strongly. 

Meriwether gasped, at a loss for words at last. 

*

“I was angry at you for leaving me alone on that ship,” Bertrand said later, in the soft hours before dawn. Meriwether pulled closer to him, not caring for the stickiness of his skin against Bertrand’s. “I know we were never friends, but …” 

“But we were fellow-sufferers,” Meriwether said, taking Bertrand’s hand and kissing his fingers. “I know.” 

But after a contemplative silence, he said, “But I still haven’t forgiven you for burning down my ship.” 

“Fair enough,” Bertrand replied. “I don’t regret doing it.” 

*

Meriwether spotted the ship first. He stopped dead from wrangling a crab and was bitten for his carelessness. The ship was too distant to be anything but smudge of white and brown against the blue of the sky. He waded back on to the shore and shouted for Bertrand, who was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone? 

He shouted for him again, but no answer. A feeling of dread fell upon him as he raced across the beach, dumping as much kindling as possible into the firepit. He knew the only way to attract attention from the ship was to build a bonfire. He could do it faster with Bertrand -- where the hell had he gone? 

Perhaps he was dead? It was a horrible thought, but for someone as fatalistic as Meriwether knew himself to be, it made sense. 

“Of course he’s not dead!” Meriwether shouted. “We survived two years on this God-forsaken island! Why should we die now?” 

“Why are you yelling?” said a now-familiar voice behind him. Meriwether turned to see Bertrand emerging from the woods with a net full of fish with him. He’d been working on the opposite side of the island, it seemed, and had not heard Meriwether’s commotion. 

“There’s a ship. A damn ship on the horizon,” Meriwether said. “Help me build this fire so they see us!” 

There were many shades of emotions that flitted across Bertrand’s face. But quickly enough, any hint of uncertainty was stamped out. He nodded and set to work. 

*

It was Meriwether who had the first word to the contingent of sailors that came ashore. “So!” he said brightly, “Is the world still running?” 

He was greeted with a tidal wave of Spanish. He caught Bertrand’s eye and couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed that they were both in trouble, but it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it might. At least they were together, whatever else the future held. 


End file.
